


Pancakes Were Not Involved

by convolutedConcussion



Series: The Pancakes Series [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Porn With Slight Plot if You Squint, Porn with Feelings, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Sequel toPancakes Were Involved“What?” she demands.“You've been acting weird is all,” Ruby says, and she sounds so concerned Beth almost spills everything right then.Instead, she protests, “I have not been weird!”She has.So, I guess we're lying about this now,she thinks.“You totally have,” Annie pipes.  “Seriously, for a couple days there, you were so full of sunshine and kittens I woulda bet you got laid.”  If she notices Beth still, she doesn't mention it. “Now you're serving me juice like I'm fifteen and you caught me smoking pot in the basement with Candace Macnamara again.”





	Pancakes Were Not Involved

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is my follow-up--by popular demand (by which I mean like 4 people asked for it)--to [Pancakes Were Involved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469378), this is set after 01.05 but isn't canon-compliant with anything afterward!

_ An idea strikes as she scrolls through her messages and selects Rio's name.  She snaps a picture of her bed and looks at the text box thoughtfully.  _

**_Next time?_ ** _ she types. _

_ With a small, satisfied smile, she hits send. _

\---

****

If asked, Beth would say--unconvincingly--that the radio silence from Rio doesn't bother her at all.  So they had sex. People hook up all the time, they're both adults,  _ she's _ an adult, and it's not like they were--it's not like she was doodling  _ Beth + Rio 4ever _ in her diary.  Of course, no one's asking, so Beth is pretty much free to admit to  _ herself _ that it's pretty much eating away at her.  She does spend several days trying to convince herself it's not a big deal and that she genuinely doesn't care, but there's a niggling anxiety in the back of her mind she can't quite quiet.  The anxiety has a voice that's still achingly familiar that whispers that she was too much--too loud, too eager, too confident. She was too easy to get, she was too open about it--after a week, the voice is louder, loud enough to drown out any pleasure at the memory of what they'd done.

The bruises on her neck are faded now from violent purple to a sort of mottled yellow-green.  She finds herself pressing her fingers to them, hidden by her hair and concealer and collared shirts, and now there's just the ghost of a quiver in her belly when she does. If no one had noticed she'd taken to doing that more and more lately, well…

It's not like she went out of her way to hide what had happened from Ruby and Annie, really, but how is she supposed to open that subject?   _ Hey, you know the  _ literal gang member  _ we're cleaning money for?  Well, in the heat of the moment… _  Frowning, she shakes away that thought.  She listens to Annie count under her breath at the coffee table and, distracted, pours her and Ruby glasses of juice without knowing why.  Ruby shoots her a look even as Annie is apparently doing her level best to drink her whole glass without taking a breath. 

“There's no alcohol in that,” Beth says distantly, half of her attention on the front door.

“Thank you,” Annie responds, rolling her eyes.  “Maybe I was just really thirsty.”

“Uh-huh,” she scoffs.  “Well, do you want more, or is your cottonmouth all cleared up now?”

Tilting her head back, her sister pulls a face and mutters loftily, “I don't think I appreciate the implication.  And yes, I'd like some more juice, please.”

With a suppressed smile, she takes her glass back into the kitchen.  She doesn't realize how unfocused she is until Ruby interrupts her wandering thoughts-- _ did that car door slam next door or _ \--with, “So, are we gonna talk about how something's going on with you or what?”

Beth takes a second too long to say, “Nothing's going on with me.”

It would probably be more convincing if the word  _ me _ didn't taper into a nervous sort of giggle.  She takes in Ruby's raised brow and looks to Annie, who's either finished counting or just decided this conversation is more interesting and is leaning back and giving her the same disbelieving look.

“What?” she demands.

“You've been acting weird is all,” Ruby says, and she sounds so concerned Beth almost spills everything right then.

Instead, she protests, “I have not been weird!”

She has. 

_ So, I guess we're lying about this now,  _ she thinks.

“You totally have,” Annie pipes.  “Seriously, for a couple days there, you were so full of sunshine and kittens I woulda bet you got laid.”  If she notices Beth still, she doesn't mention it. “Now you're serving me juice like I'm fifteen and you caught me smoking pot in the basement with Candace Macnamara again.”

“Listen,” Ruby says seriously, shooting Annie a look.  “It's just that we need to have each other's backs, and if anything's going on--”

“No, it's--there really isn't anything going on.  I guess I've just had a rough few days,” she lies, wincing.  “It's nothing you need to worry about, I probably just need a massage.  And a drink.”

“It's not even noon,” Ruby frowns. 

“Well, this is a very uncomfortable conversation, I thought it'd help,” she smiles back, keeping her voice light.  It doesn't seem to help things and she leans on her elbows on the island and twiddles her thumbs for a moment. Maybe if they'd had this conversation a few days ago when she was still riding the post-coital high as far as it would take her, she'd be able to bring herself to tell them.  But as it stands, she's feeling the sting of rejection too keenly to open that can of worms. “I think,” she adds slowly, choosing her words carefully, “With everything going on, I've been a little frazzled, that's all. I mean, it's not like--”

She's saved from the mortification of having to finish the lie by the front door opening, and she can't quite suppress her relief.  That relief lasts all of three seconds before her eyes lock with Rio's and it's like the other two don't exist. Inhaling slowly, she schools her face into something more impassive, and at the edge of her vision she sees Annie heave herself off the couch.

“Where're your goons, dude?” she asks too casually to be really comfortable, and Beth can see the way her shoulders tighten  _ just so _ when he turns his attention to her with an arched brow. 

“You think I need ‘em?” he asks, smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth.

The following pause is painful, too long to be shrugged off with a joke, and Beth resolutely stares at the wall over his left shoulder.  She can just see his eyes turn back to her, feels them on her, and she works herself up to say--what?  _ Okay, nice seeing you, bye now.   _

Just as she opens her mouth, he interrupts her with, “You and me got business to discuss.”

Her gaze snaps to his face then, and she asks coolly, “Oh, do we?”  His eyebrows flicker up in some nameless challenge, and her lips twist wryly even as a giddy sort of excitement flutters under her chest.  Ruby's eyes flit between the two of them, and Beth can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Right,” she says, as if she just remembered.  Then, to Ruby and her sister, “It's fine, guys.”

Annie gapes at her, and Beth thinks it's a testament to just how well she knows her that she doesn't even need words to broadcast,  _ Are we being dismissed? _

Beth shrugs and nods.

She walks them to the door, repeats, “It's fine,” at their twin looks of concern, and locks the door behind them when they're gone.  After a beat, she whirls around and jolts when she finds him within arm's reach. “You didn't text me back,” she says without meaning to.

“Was I supposed to?” he asks, coming no closer and looking back and forth between her eyes and her mouth in a way that makes her realize she's lost already.  The part of her that had protested so hard against it last time reminds her futilely that this is a bad decision--but it's a bad decision she knows she's going to keep making.

“It would have been nice,” she answers breezily as she takes a step forward.

Tilting his head just a fraction of an inch, he seems to consider her for a moment before sucking his teeth and saying, “Noted.”  She sucks in a quick gasp when he palms the back of her neck and almost forgets she’s annoyed with him  _ at best _ \--but then his lips collide into hers and then  _ she  _ collides into the door and that thought goes flying out the window.

She's already breathing harder when he pulls back, and her eyes flutter closed as she feels him tip her head back, feels the drag of his fingertips over her neck.  They linger over the faded hickeys, and a shaky, quiet moan escapes her at the twinge it sends through her. Teeth and tongue follow, making her breath hitch, and one hand comes up to the base of his skull.

Before she can do more, her phone chirps in her pocket.  “I need to--”

“Do you?” he asks lazily, mouth moving against her skin and making her shiver.

With a frown, she pushes him back enough to fish it out  to find a text from Annie reading,  _ SOS?? is he gonna kill u??? _  Almost unwillingly, she laughs.

“I think you may want to reconsider your come-on,” she smiles, doing her best to answer one-handed, “My sister thinks you're going to murder me.”

“And she thinks I'd let you keep your phone?”

She snorts and thinks,  _ Point.   _ “Well, you've gotta admit--” she replies haltingly as he apparently loses interest in this topic and goes back to nipping and kissing his way up the column of her throat, “It's not like it isn't--Jesus, isn't justified.”

Sighing, he straightens to look her in the eye.  “What your sister and housewife buddy think is not my problem,” he says. 

“It will be if they decide to storm the castle,” she counters, letting her hand curl around his collar.

“Then tell them what's up.”

Letting her head thunk back against the door, Beth considers him for a moment before, “What  _ is  _ up?”  His grin makes her feel hot all over, all full of promise, and she stammers, “I--I meant--you--”

“I…”  God, now he's making fun of her.

“You--” she repeats, embarrassment and annoyance fighting for precedence.  “You can't just show up here for a quick--” she can't bring herself to say it.  “That's not how this is going to go, you don't just show up here and expect sex after  _ not texting me back _ .”

“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he asks lowly.

“I want you to treat me like a person not a  _ sex _ toy,” she says forcefully, voice raising just shy of shrilly on the word _ sex _ .

The understanding that lights in his eyes doesn't make her feel any better.  “You want me to ask if you're down for it?” he asks. She nods mutely. “Are you?”

“Yeah, yes.”  She nods again, just in case. 

“Anything else?”

“Maybe bring lunch next time,” she jokes.

“Don't push it,” he says, but it's softened by his smile.  After a breath, he continues in a low growl, “So, about that text…”

She pulls him forward into another kiss and licks her way past his lips, relishing his groan when her tongue slips against his and his fingers tighten around the back of her neck.  “Yeah,” she pants, pushing at his chest, “Yeah, we should go to the bedroom.”

It's with some regret that she lets him go, and she has to work hard to match his languid pace to her room.  She pauses just inside the doorway, pulling the door shut behind her, watching him prowl over to her neatly-made bed and take a seat on the bedspread.

“Take off your shoes,” she orders, feeling surreal saying it and even more so when he snorts and  _ does it _ .  For some reason, she can’t tear her eyes away from his fingers as they work at the knots in his shoelaces.  She realizes in a distant way that he’s undressing, however little it is, and it’s not like before--planned or not, this is deliberate, and it’s real now in a way it hadn’t been then.  It dawns on her that she can’t blame temporary insanity this time.

“You freakin’ out on me?” he asks mildly, setting his shoes aside and folding his hands in his lap like he’s attending a Ted Talk or something.

“No,” she says, and it’s only half a lie.

His tongue swipes out across his lower lip as he looks pointedly to her own shoes.  With a hand on the dresser, she slips off one heel, then the other, letting them thunk hollowly to the floor.

“C’mere,” he frowns like he's not sure why she's not there already.

It only takes a few seconds to close the distance between them, but somehow time seems to move slower than normal--it feels more ridiculous than sexy, if she's really honest with herself.  His fingers curl around the backs of her knees and draw her forward until she straddles his hips, and his hands slip up the backs of her thighs as she settles. They both lean forward at the same moment, lips coming together in a jarring crash that makes her gasp and dig her fingers into his shoulders.  As if testing to see if she  _ can _ , she pushes him down until he's laying flat on his back, feet still on the floor, and straightens, eyes darting from his face to his throat to his hands on her hips.  There's too many layers to make it really _ good _ when she rolls against him, more like a promise than anything else, but she can't suppress the smirk at the breathless noise he makes.

Tugging his shirt untucked, she kisses him hard but quick, and his head lifts off the bed to follow her as she pulls just out of reach.  She does this a couple times as her fingers work at the buttons of his shirt until his chest is bare from his throat to the waist of his jeans, and she turns her attention to his neck.  While she does her level best to suck a bruise into the base of his throat, she feels his hands leave her hips, one trailing up under her blouse and hot as a brand against her skin, the other working deftly at her own buttons.  In a distant way, she wonders how he does that--she could barely undo his with  _ two _ hands--but then he’s shoving her blouse off her shoulders and she knows, just  _ knows _ that he’s going to rip it.

She sits up and shrugs out of it, licking her aching lips and pushing her hair out of her face and watching his eyes track up and down--her cheeks burn, self-conscious, as she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra.  There’s a flash of anxiety before she lets it fall away, a brief panic of  _ you’ve-had-four-kids!,  _ but his hands come up to guide the straps down the length of her arms, and she can’t help but ask, “So, it’s just that easy for you?”

His answering grin is equal parts self-satisfied and salacious as he tosses her bra somewhere behind her.  Biting her lip to stifle a moan, she squeezes her eyes shut as he palms her breasts and sucks in a sharp inhale at the thumbs teasing her nipples.  She tips her head back and rocks against him again before grabbing his wrists, his elbows, his shoulders and pressing her chest flush to his in a way that makes her hips twinge with the stretch.  She kisses him, open and slick and  _ filthy _ , loses herself in it enough that it’s a surprise when he wraps his arms around her and flips them, lifting her enough to set her further up on the mattress.  

He sits back on his knees for a moment, eyes on hers as he unbuttons his cuffs, and she sits up with no other aim than to have her hands on him.  Once his shirt slips off the edge of the bed, she pulls him back down with her, fingers tight around his biceps before sliding over his shoulders, down his back.  He props himself up on one elbow, fingers threading into her hair, as the pad of his other thumb traces her swollen lips.

“Rio,” she breathes, arching up into him, “Please, I need--I need…” she trails off, either not knowing what she needs or not knowing how to ask for it.

He catches his lower lip between his teeth before bending towards her ear and whispering, “I know what you need, ma.”

It should be a bad line, but spoken like  _ that _ , sex-thick and sweet as honey, she thinks it may be the best thing she’s ever heard.  She expects him to go for her neck again, but his teeth close over the ridge of her collarbone, eliciting a choking whine, but he soon moves on.  As he trails short, biting kisses down the length of her body--pausing to take one nipple into his mouth, then the other--her fingers fist into the blanket under her and her heel digs into the back of his thigh, and she tries to press up to get closer or urge him on or  _ something _ , heart thrumming just under her throat.  She thinks a little hysterically as his teeth graze the ridge of her hip that she  _ knew _ he was going to kill her, she just didn’t think it’d be like  _ this _ .

His voice is buried below her navel when he tells her to lift up--she does, she thinks she may hit his nose in her eagerness to comply, and she starts to apologize when he gives her a sharp nip as he drags her jeans down over her hips.  As they get past her knees, she tugs her legs free, and he circles one ankle with his fingers, gaze hungry and flitting all over her before coming up to meet hers. She watches him, holding her breath without meaning to, watches him press his lips to the insides of her knees, watches him lower himself onto his belly.  Without warning, he turns his face into her inner thigh, sucks so hard it makes her jerk and whimper, does the same to her other thigh, eyes his work critically.

The first slow lick makes her arch her back almost painfully off the bed, and she doesn’t even know  _ what _ it is he does next but it makes her give a shaking moan.  His arms come up under her thighs, wrapping around them and holding them apart when they reflexively clench at-- _ oh, God, where did he learn  _ that?  Her hands start to ache, so she loosens the death grip she’s got on the comforter and struggles to find a place to put them.  One ends up around his wrist, the other hovers uselessly over the back of his head before another wave of pleasure courses through her and she doesn’t really have much choice left in the matter when her hand drops.

“This okay?” she asks breathlessly even as she tries to buck up into him.  

Staring at the ceiling without seeing it, she's hyperaware of how her bitten-off moans ring out, of the sounds he's making--slurping and groaning, buried between her legs--how every dirty, indiscreet noise, every touch brings her closer to the edge.  She's so close, she's dizzy with it. She curses, thinks she curses, holding his wrist so tight she's got to be hurting him. Her stomach clenches and her breath stutters, and his hold on her is so tight she realizes they'll leave bruises and--and on that thought, she doesn't so much as tip over the edge as she's  _ launched _ , vision white and every muscle growing tight and hand flying up to clap over her mouth.  It doesn't do much to stifle her cry, but it does give her that illusion.

He doesn't stop, not until she chokes out a wrecked sob sound his name and shoves at his head.  She feels him loosen his hold on her, and as soon as he starts to push up on his knees, she presses her own together, shaking and gulping in air like she forgot how to breathe.

“I--I’m gonna need a minute,” she pants weakly, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she sees stars.

“Oh, darling, you take all the time you need,” he croons, flopping onto his back next to her, and when she looks over, he’s got his head cushioned on his arms and looks altogether too pleased with himself.

Staring at him, she forgets her nudity and his obvious erection, and she says faintly but unable to hide her smile, “You're gonna kill me.”

He turns his face towards her.  “I dunno, didn't sound like such a bad way to go.”

She doesn’t have a damn thing to say to that, so she keeps her peace.

When her breathing evens out and she stops feeling like she’s going to shatter into a million pieces at the lightest touch, she rolls onto her side to face him.  Her fingertips trace the tattoo on the inside of his arm, and she watches the muscle twitch just underneath the skin. “You  _ are _ ticklish,” she says, awed.

Sighing in exasperation, he raises both eyebrows at her, and her lips twist sheepishly.  As if in apology, she nudges an open-mouthed kiss to the spot she’d touched, hand stroking his chest and his belly, over his side, gripping his hip.  She shifts closer, pressing all along his side, as she skims her hand over the front of his pants. She can feel his quiet intake of breath and the way his hips lift, and she bites his shoulder to hide her smile.  His groan vibrates through her when she squeezes him.

Fingers tangling in her hair, he pulls her up to mash their mouths together messily, and she sinks into the kiss helplessly.  She fights with his buckle, button, zipper, and she almost crows in victory when she finally gets them all undone--she doesn’t, but it’s a very near thing, and it’s mostly up to the fact that her mouth is otherwise occupied.  A thrill of heat shoots through her belly when her fingers wrap around his cock and his head drops back with a moan. She does now what she hadn’t done before, memorizes the feel of him in her hand, strokes him slowly until he’s rocking up in time with her.

“What do you want?” she hears herself ask in a voice so rough she barely recognizes it.

“I wanna fuck you,” he answers, and it sounds like a certainty, sounds a lot like,  _ I’m gonna fuck you _ .

“Okay,” she breathes as his fingers tighten in her hair and guide her back until their positions are flipped and he’s hovering half-over her, propped up on an elbow.  “Yeah, okay, there are--um, there are condoms in the nightstand.”

“Those things expire, Elizabeth.”

Pursing her lips together, she glares up at him before admitting, “I bought them last week.”

He squints at her, searches her face, and then he smiles crookedly and nods.  He pushes up and back and releases his old on her hair, and she watches him stand and go to the nightstand.  She shifts and twists until her head is against the pillow, and he offers without looking up, “Comfy? I could always tuck you in and…”

“Listen, if you’re telling me you’re not up for it,” she responds in the same tone, eyebrows jumping up.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he asks, flipping open the little box.

Shrugging, she watches him close the drawer.  “Maybe.” She tilts her head at him expectantly, and he shakes his head before shucking off his jeans and underwear in one go, and it’s her turn to eye him hungrily, already feeling hot and desperate in spite of the fact that just a few minutes ago she was pretty sure she died for a moment.  “Okay,” she says steadily, looking back up to his face, “Or you could just come over here and stop mocking my pillows.”

A very small, very quiet part of her mind balks when he tosses the empty foil wrapper on the floor-- _ there is a waste basket  _ right _ there-- _ but it is quickly drowned out when he makes short work of rolling the condom on and climbs up to meet her.  When he pushes her knees apart, she sees his eyes go to the spots where bruises are already forming, and she chews her lip, feeling itchy and exposed, but it’s only a moment.  She pushes up on one hand to grab the back of his neck and drag him down for a hot kiss, hitching her knees over his hips and gasping when she feels the length of him glide over her clit, rocking up to chase friction.

“Like this?” he asks against her mouth, rolling his hips again.

“Uh-huh, whatever you want,” she mumbles, tapering off into a noise caught between a sigh and a whine.  It must not be the right answer because all he does is rub against her until she moans, frustrated, “God-- _ yes _ , please, like this!”

That at least gets him inside of her, a slow press that makes her shake and clench around him, and she thinks she hears him hiss  _ fuck _ before his teeth scrape over her lower lip.  With unhurried but relentless thrusts, he rocks into her, one elbow on the bed as his other hand holds her hip, firm but not painful, keeps her from bucking up to meet him.  She just has to take and take and take and every slow stroke sets off little bursts of pleasure through her and he pushes his face against her neck, groaning and whispering something she can't hear.  It's good-- _ sogoodyesthere-- _ but she needs more, grabs his wrist and tugs until he lets her hip go and guides her hand up under the pillow.  From there, it’s all hot breath against her throat and his palm sliding against hers and his fingers tangling with hers, her nails at the base of his neck, a high-pitched noise erupting from her chest that she can’t even name, the slick-slide of her body against his.  She urges him faster, closer, and she feels sweat beading on his skin everywhere they touch in spite of her admittedly aggressive air conditioner, and she thinks she could--thinks she’s gonna--

She hears him moan, hears  _ Elizabeth _ like a plea, feels him pressing her harder into the mattress, rhythm stuttering, and she cries so hard her throat aches with it--toes curling, back bending, more intense than the first time.  He sinks into her, his grip on her hand so hard her fingers spasm before he loosens, and she takes his weight, trembling and panting and  _ boneless _ .

There’s a twinge of discomfort-- _ absence-- _ when he lets go of her hand and pushes up on shaking arms, eases out of her, and drops at her side, head on the pillow next to hers.  His eyes are closed when she looks over at him, breath still coming in short and fast, both hands on his belly, and she can’t quite make out how she feels about seeing him that way--her brain’s too muzzy-sleepy.  One eye cracks open and looks at her sideways, and she’s almost embarrassed at being caught until he shifts and insinuates an arm under her shoulders and jostles her into his side--she’s quietly pleased, but she’s also so heavy-sated-warm that she almost doesn’t care as she curls into his side.  Her hand comes up to his chest, her knee to his thigh, and there are thoughts already warring for precedence--the kids need to be picked up soon and she should probably go grocery shopping and he should probably do something about that condom or she’s going to have to wash the duvet cover even though she’s already  _ got _ three loads to do.

“Stop thinking,” he mumbles, nails dragging over her scalp and tangling her hair.

“Impossible,” she yawns, rubbing her face against his shoulder--she thinks, all things considered, it’s probably a liberty she can take.  “Is this you treating me like a person?”

He shrugs.  “Maybe I like this.”

Humming, she doesn’t make the effort to reply.  She can have this, for a few minutes at least.

She’s not sure how much later, but she hears him say, “Tell your sister and your friend.”

She doesn’t say  _ you make it sound so easy _ or  _ you can’t tell me what to do _ .  There’s something right on the edge of her mind, some epiphany,  _ something _ in the way he says it, but she can’t puzzle it out just yet.  Instead, she says, “Okay.”

They fall silent again, and she thinks she could get used to this.  She doesn’t quite doze off, but her eyes shut and she lets herself breathe him in and does her best not to think about anything outside of this bed.  She feels him begin to pull away, and she presses her hand to the center of his chest before pushing up, eyeing him first and then the rest of the room.  She’s out of bed before he is, grabbing her robe as she goes, unsure about how she feels about just  _ being _ naked but putting on actual clothes seems too hard--she needs a shower, anyway--and goes to the bathroom.

The Beth in the mirror is  _ not _ a Beth she recognizes--all swollen, violently red lips and stubble burn and marked up like she lost a fight with a vacuum.  She leans towards her reflection and smooths her hair back, brushes her fingers across her lips, arches her neck from side to side to survey the damage.  Huffing, she splashes her face and neck with cold water.

By the time she’s done in the bathroom, Rio’s dressed--she’s maybe a little  _ too _ happy to see that she can see the start of a hickey peeking over the edge of his collar.  He steps closer, looming over her, smile in his eyes and curling at his own bruised lips, and he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in a moment of gentleness she’s not sure what to do with.

“I’ll text you,” he says.

\---

Annie and Ruby are already at the diner when she gets there, and even as she’s sliding into the booth, she’s saying, “I did something.”

“You  _ cannot _ keep saying that,” Ruby replies.

Rolling her eyes, Beth continues, “Just--and don’t be mad--but I--”

“Slept with gang friend,” Annie interrupts.

“I--uh--wait, what?” she stammers, feeling Ruby’s wide eyes on her.  “How did you even…”

Grinning with relish, she takes a long drink of lemonade before setting her glass down and folding her hands on the table.  She looks at the other two before, “So, you know how the other day he came over and he was all--” she lowers the pitch of her voice in a poor approximation of Rio’s, “‘We got business,’ and you were all, ‘Oh, of course, right, let me just  _ kick out my sister and best friend  _ because we got business,’ and then kicked us out?”

Realizing she’s waiting for a response, Beth nods slowly.

“And then I texted you because I’m a good sister and I was, reasonably I think, worried that he was going to commit a violent crime, and I  _ really _ didn’t appreciate you L-O-L-ing at my super reasonable text, by the way,” she pauses for another significant sip.  “So, anyway, you didn’t say anything else, and I was, again, concerned about your well-being.” Beth narrows her eyes.  “Well, I am. And your hide-a-key is still in the same spot, so I thought I’d just… go in, take a peak, make sure you weren’t being gruesomely and horrifically murdered.”

_ Oh no, _ Beth thinks, blanching.

“Yeah, and like there’s  _ no one _ in the living room, and he left his big-ass bag of cash, and someone was making, like, porno noises,” she grins, heedless of the group of old ladies two tables away who turn to glare at her.  “Weird, right?”

“Oh my God,” Beth moans, dropping her head at the same time as Ruby demands,  _ “What?” _

Wincing, she mumbles something about Annie being right.

For a long while, they stay silent--Ruby’s staring somewhere over Beth’s shoulder, Annie’s pretending to read the menu and smiling to herself, and Beth is trying to figure out whether or not it would be easier to just light herself on fire.  At length, Ruby clears her throat and asks tremulously, “So, how was it?”

“Did you or did you  _ not _ just hear me say  _ porno noises?” _ Annie asks in a stage whisper.

“I’m sorry about her,” Beth tells the other table.  “She’s… Yeah.” Annie favors her with a glare. Ruby is still waiting on an answer.  “It was--it was  _ fine. _ ”

“‘Fine,’” she snorts.  “‘It was  _ fine _ ,’ she says.  Are you gonna do it--are you gonna see him again?”

“I--” as if summoned by the question, her phone buzzes in her pocket.  “Yeah, I think I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed this and/or would like to watch me lose my damn mind over this show (which I'm still not caught up on... because... I am just like this), please feel free to swing by my [Tumblr!](https://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) My ask box is always open for fandom-related screaming!
> 
> Also! Thanks so much to my wonderful, patient, longsuffering beta, [who can be found here](https://lunafeather.tumblr.com) (seriously she's the best and I love her and I cannot apologize to her enough for the fact that I am, again, _still not caught up_ ). Without you, so many unfinished sentences would have made it into this fic.


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